


不要有所犹豫 (don't hesitate)

by mouthkissed (friday)



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friday/pseuds/mouthkissed
Summary: “It's kind of hard to explain,” Chaoze finally said.“Yeah,” Ruibin said, sounding apologetic. “I mean, all I can say is that it was really, really helpful.”“It’s just you and Kun-ge left, right?” Quanzhe asked.Yixing's been pulling out all the members of the MASK team out for secret pep talks, and he's saving the best for last.





	不要有所犹豫 (don't hesitate)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from zyx's mask!

Over the last twenty-four hours, Ziyi’s teammates have been slowly disappearing.

In itself, that wasn’t that alarming—despite everything they’d gone through and been forced to give up, pride was the last to go in any situation and so some people still preferred to practice alone first, making sure they had enough of the basics of the choreo down before coming back together with everyone else. No, what Ziyi couldn’t figure out was the part that came later, when they inevitably came back, usually after no longer than an hour or two, the peaks of their shoulders valleyed and a glow on their faces that Ziyi couldn’t place—until Ruibin, the second to go, had returned and Ziyi realized with a sudden clarity that he looked _relaxed_.

The other part that remained a mystery was that wherever they disappeared to, it was at Yixing’s beckoning, because he was always the one who brought them back, whoever it was trailing a slight and respectful distance after him. He would pause at the slightly ajar door of their communal practice room to wait for whichever trainee he'd called out to catch up, and without meaning to, Ziyi always slowed his steps at this point because he was interested in what Yixing had to say, even though it had been four whisked away teammates by now and still Yixing never said anything beyond a variation of:

“If you work hard, people will support you. But if you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be able to show everything you have. Understand?”

Yixing was able to make even the blandest platitude sound profound, but that wasn’t his main superpower. Everyone on the show, full-stop, admired Zhang Yixing for any number of reasons you could mix and match, but the one that topped Ziyi’s list was how proudly Yixing wore his debt to determination. He was nowhere near the celebrity Ziyi found most handsome or naturally talented or immediately arresting, but Yixing had _character_ , which Ziyi was starting to recognize as the difference between fame and a career you could be proud of.

 

 

“Mubo.”

That would be Yixing, waving at them all from the practice room door but speaking pointedly to Mubo, who startled but diligently went, the door closing with a gentle click behind them. Zibo and Quanzhe, who’d been pulled out of practice yesterday evening and this morning, respectively, exchanged glances.

“Ooh,” Zibo said the minute the door swung shut behind Mubo and Yixing. “Good timing. Lao Han’s been a little moody lately.”

Quanzhe made a face. The sub-20 rank faction of their group had grown especially close in the last few days, and had reached a point where they could even joke about their eliminations, but it was true that sometimes Mubo fell into a funk, looking like he was weighed down by a number that suspiciously resembled a countdown to his next birthday. “Yeah, but I think PD can get him back into shape.”

“ _Definitely_ ,” Ruibin said, with feeling. “I don’t know about you guys, but it was so helpful for me. I feel so lucky to be on PD’s team.”

“ _Totally_ lucky,” Chaoze emphasized. “He just, like, he gets it.”

Ziyi couldn’t help it anymore. He was only human.

“So, what happens?” Ziyi asked, aiming for casual. “Does he, what, give you guys tips?”

At their rate, Zibo, Quanzhe, Ruibin, and Chaoze could play competitive eye-contact ping-pong. Ziyi snuck a glance at Xukun, the only other person who hasn’t been called out, hoping for commiseration. Xukun offered a sympathetic shrug, folding the brim of his cap in his hands, but overall he looked disinterested and eager to get back to practice, evidently not sharing Ziyi’s curiosity.

It made sense that he wouldn’t. After the chapstick incident, some of the other trainees poked fun of Xukun for being Yixing’s favorite, which Xukun visibly found annoying but with which Ziyi privately agreed, if only because he could see all too clearly the line between Xukun’s propensity for professionalism and Yixing’s. And on an even more basic, animal level, Ziyi thought it made sense Yixing favored Xukun. Of course he did—who, in possession of eyes and a libido, wouldn’t? 

“It's kind of hard to explain,” Chaoze finally said.

“Yeah,” Ruibin said, sounding apologetic. “I mean, all I can say is that it was really, really helpful.”

“It’s just you and Kun-ge left, right?” Quanzhe asked.

“Ah, so he’s saving the best for last,” Zibo said in a pompous voice, and Ziyi’s face folded automatically into a grimace, that little shit. By the way everyone started laughing, he could tell without looking that it was an expression mirrored on Xukun’s face as well.

 

 

Yixing finally came for them later that afternoon, after Ziyi and Xukun had finished filming the segment where they drew each other. It had resulted in mutually terrible portraits, though Xukun was still trying to insist that he’d been shafted long after they had wrapped filming and were being shooed away from the table. Still bickering, they walked out of the interview room and right into Yixing, who was chatting just outside the door with a staff jiejie about her dad’s recovery from gallbladder surgery.

They bowed reflexively, and then again, deeper, when they realized who it was.

“Zhang-PD, hi,” Xukun said, his politeness an abrupt switch of gears from his previous tone, which was whining about Ziyi’s artistry, or perceived lack thereof. It had been months since they started filming, and the more boyish and looser-limbed version of Xukun was slowly unearthing itself, but his professionalism was lived-in at this point, and clung to him as tightly as a plastic glove, snapping into place the minute they were in the vicinity of authority. “How are you? Were you looking for us? Are we missing practice?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Don’t worry,” Yixing said, sounding downright Buddha-like compared to Xukun’s increasingly high-pitched anxiety. “I was just hoping we could have a talk. Kunkun, let’s go to your room, I already asked Zhou Rui and Haohao to give us some space. You too, Ziyi,” he added, in answer to Ziyi’s unspoken question. “I want to talk to both of you.”

 

 

Ziyi knew he had cultivated a reputation among the other trainees for being laidback. At some of the younger kids’ most panicked, it might have seemed close to godliness, while the less generous attributed it to what everyone knew at this point about his family background. The real answer lay somewhere in between—if Ziyi was being honest with himself, it was true that knowing his mother would welcome him back to his sizable childhood bedroom with open arms gave him a sense of security others weren’t so lucky to have, but it was also true that Qin Fen could claim the same security, and no one had ever taken Qin Fen for a paragon of relaxation.

But Ziyi was human too, and there was no way not to be affected by the increasing tension of their circumstances. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt it more than at that moment, following Zhang Yixing’s compulsively straight back down the hallway to Xukun’s room, Xukun a bristling animal next to him. It didn’t help either that the cameras were suspiciously absent.

“You’re not going to need those,” Yixing had said earlier, unclipping the microphones from their shirts and handing both to the staff jiejie he’d been talking to.

“Oh—okay.” Xukun had nodded, looking off-kilter. Ziyi understood. It was funny how easily they’d all gotten acclimated to the almost-24/7 presence of the cameras and microphones.

Yixing ushered them both into Xukun’s room, and then flipped the lock after them. Ziyi’s blood pressure climbed impossibly higher.

Yixing turned to look at both of them, dimpling at their nervousness. “Why don’t you two sit,” he gestured. It was phrased like a suggestion, but he had pulled up the only chair in the room so that it faced Xukun’s bottom bunk. Ziyi sat down on top of Xukun’s messy sheets, and tried to tap into that reservoir of calm within him only to find that it had evaporated in the last ten minutes. Xukun didn’t even pretend, and when he sat down next to Ziyi, it was right at the edge, hands in a polite grip on his knees.

“You guys can relax. You aren’t in trouble, you know,” Yixing said, laughing a little and rolling his chair closer. He tilted his head to look at both of them, smiling. There was only a meter and a half between them, max, but Ziyi wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt the gulf between them as much as in that moment. Yixing’s posture, though now slouched, radiated self-possession. In contrast, every limb of Ziyi’s felt over-large and sweaty.

When Xukun and Ziyi neither said anything nor made any motions towards relaxing, Yixing continued, in a smooth, low voice Ziyi wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him use before, “Okay, okay let me think.” He brought a hand up to his mouth, as if he was actually thinking about it. When he moved it away, it was to ask, “Kunkun, how about you get on your knees?”

 

 

Which was how Ziyi found himself looking at the slightly greasy crown of Xukun’s head. Immediately after Yixing had posed the question, throwing it out casually like it was just some random suggestion, Ziyi could see Xukun visibly thinking, before slowly sliding forward off the bed and onto his knees.

Yixing’s face crinkled into an eye-smile. “That’s great, Kunkun,” he said, voice like warm milk. It was so encouraging that Ziyi felt like he could literally see the muscles in Xukun’s shoulders unknitting, if only because he could feel it of his own body. “Why don’t you turn to face Ziyi?”

Xukun did, turning awkwardly on his knees and almost toppling over. Ziyi reached out a hand to steady him, and then looked again at Yixing. “PD, should I also—?” he asked uncertainly, rising a centimeter off the bed.

“Ah, Ziyi, you’re okay right where you are,” Yixing said. “But why don’t you give Kunkun a pillow for his knees? We want to make sure he’ll feel good tomorrow.”

Ziyi handed Xukun a pillow, hyper aware of Yixing rolling himself closer in the chair, until his knees were almost bumping into Xukun’s head and Ziyi could feel the heat radiating off him. Yixing reached out and idly touched a hand to the nape of Xukun’s neck, leaving it there. In the periphery of his vision, Ziyi could see Xukun bite his lip, eyes falling shut as he just barely managed to suppress a shiver. Yixing leaned forward, so Ziyi did too, caught in the gravity of Yixing’s aura.

Ziyi had been surprised to discover the gap between Yixing’s straight-backed, teacherly energy with them and the loose, almost silly vibe he had around He Jiong and the rest of the Happy Camp hosts. But the way Yixing carried himself when the music came on was exactly the same anywhere he was, everything else whittled away until it was just Yixing at his sharpest, wielding his body like a knife. To have all of that intensity suddenly focused on Ziyi was startling, making him feel like his entire world had shrunk only to what was contained between their bodies.

“Ziyi,” Yixing said, sounding serious. “I want to ask you something kind of important, if that’s okay.”

Ziyi’s head bobbed in a helpless nod. He already would’ve done anything Yixing had asked him, but now the feeling had increased threefold.

“Okay,” Yixing said, and actually drew his bottom lip in between his teeth for a second. Ziyi’s eyes followed the movement; he didn’t want to be this kind of person, but he couldn’t help it. And so he was looking at Zhang Yixing’s mouth when it formed the words, “When was the last time you got off?”

 

 

Ziyi didn’t know what to thank for not yelping at the question, whether instinct or training or nature. Instead he flinched, managing to tear his eyes away from Yixing’s mouth as he stammered, “Uh, I’m sorry, what?” He chanced a look at Yixing’s face, but quickly realized that wasn’t safe either, so he settled for gazing at the shorn hair above Yixing’s right ear.

“The last time you got off,” Yixing said patiently, before bringing the hand that wasn’t in Xukun’s hair to his lap to make the universal jerk-off gesture.

It was so casually crude that it actually calmed Ziyi. Still, he didn’t know where this was going nor what the right thing to say was, and so he settled for the truth. “I don’t know,” he mumbled to Zhang Yixing’s right ear. “Maybe, like, a few weeks ago? A month ago?”

Yixing hummed in contemplation. “Where, in your dorm bathroom?” The hand that was in Xukun’s hair had started to absentmindedly pet. Ziyi could see Xukun fidget with every light pass of Yixing’s nails over his scalp, though his hands stayed folded politely in his lap.

Ziyi was so warm he thought he might overheat and spontaneously combust, or at least pass out. He almost hoped he would, even as arousal jolted through him, making his dick stir. “Uh, yeah,” he said, words coming out in a quick exhale. “Just, you know, at night. While I was showering.”

“A month,” Yixing mused. “That’s a pretty long time. I remember being that age and, well—” He shrugged his shoulders in one fluid motion, as if it were normal for Ziyi to be having a conversation with Zhang Yixing about their masturbation habits. Then Yixing dropped his eyes to Xukun shifting on his knees and said, in that low, hot voice, “Hey, Kunkun, can you look at me?”

Xukun raised his eyes up to meet Yixing’s, and Ziyi was absurdly gratified to note that Xukun’s ears were red. Yixing smiled down at Xukun, running his hand through his hair a few more times before dragging his fingers down Xukun’s face to cup his jaw. Still smiling, Yixing pressed his thumb against Xukun’s lower lip. For a second, Ziyi thought Xukun would be disgusted, or get mad. Xukun’s shoulders were set in a line so straight it seemed like any additional pressure might snap them, but suddenly they were collapsing, like all of the tension of the past few months was released from Xukun’s body.

And so Ziyi watched, suddenly light-headed despite the shallow breaths he was taking, Xukun lowered his eyelashes. His tongue darted out, licking up the pad of Yixing’s thumb before sucking it into his mouth, teeth a flash of white. By the time Xukun had worked his way up to both Yixing’s middle and ring fingers, his red mouth shiny with spit, Ziyi was fully hard in his sweats.

He also couldn’t stop starting, so he took a moment to react when Yixing pulled his fingers from Xukun’s mouth with an obscene pop and asked, “Ziyi, why don’t you take off your pants?”

There was a slight undercurrent of fear charging Ziyi’s adrenaline now, not because he believed Yixing or Xukun was going to hurt or mock him, but because he couldn’t believe that this was actually happening to him and he was worried that perhaps he was hallucinating, or having the most intricate wet dream ever. He managed to pull it together enough to push his sweatpants down, fingers clumsy. And then they were off, and Ziyi was sitting bare-legged in front of Yixing and Xukun, grateful for some insane reason that at least his briefs were black, so that the precome beading out of his dick wasn’t as obvious. Free from one confine and unable to help himself, he quickly palmed his dick through his briefs, the pressure of his palm and the drag of cotton providing a modicum of relief.

Xukun had shifted enough that he was fully between the V of Yixing’s legs now, his head resting on Yixing’s right thigh. Ziyi didn’t know what to do with the fact that he’d noticed Xukun’s eyes following him as he shucked off his sweatpants, and he definitely didn’t know what to do with the fact that Xukun’s eyes had gone half-lidded and dark, zeroing in on Ziyi’s crotch. When Ziyi palmed himself, Xukun bit his lip, turning his head so that his face was partially hidden in the muscle of Yixing’s thigh.

Yixing ran his hand through Xukun’s hair again. It was a testament to how out of it Xukun must be that he didn’t even say anything, given that it was the hand that had just been in his mouth, sticky with saliva. This time, when Yixing reached the nape of Xukun’s neck, he pulled at the roots of his hair a little, and Xukun full-body shivered. A slip of a moan fell out of his mouth. It was the first sound Xukun had made since Yixing had closed the door behind them.

“PD,” Xukun said, voice rough. Ziyi’s dick twitched again. “I want to— Please let me—”

Yixing smiled benevolently down at Xukun, petting his hair more gently now. “Thank you,” he told Xukun. “But not me. Why don’t you ask Ziyi?”

 

 

“I—” Ziyi said, voice sticking his throat when Xukun turned those dark eyes on him. “Uh, I—”

“If you want something, Ziyi, you should ask for it,” Yixing said lightly. He pulled away from Xukun, and pushed himself slightly away from them. It was somehow worse with the extra distance; it made Ziyi even more aware of how much control Yixing had, both of himself and of the situation, and how little of it he had.

Xukun inched closer to Ziyi, still on his knees, but Ziyi couldn’t really let himself think about Xukun on his knees in front of him unless he really wanted his brain to explode. So he just looked at Xukun, searching his face. “I want,” he started hesitatingly, and then couldn’t continue, hoping Xukun would understand. “If you do, Kunkun.”

The kiss Xukun pressed to the side of Ziyi’s knee was possibly the most shocking thing that had happened to him all day. His other knee jerked up, almost braining Xukun, and Ziyi had to hold back a yelp. Xukun shifted forward some more, and Ziyi’s legs opened automatically to accommodate him. Xukun hummed his approval into Ziyi’s skin, tracing his mouth along the long muscle of Ziyi’s thigh as he got closer to Ziyi’s crotch.

By the time he got there, Ziyi was pretty sure he’d completely stopped breathing. But then he ran his tongue along the elastic of Ziyi’s briefs, before getting his mouth fully on the fabric covering Ziyi’s balls. The wet heat of Xukun’s mouth on his dick was too much for him, and Ziyi let his breath out in one long, shaky breath.

“What do you think?” Yixing asked thoughtfully. Ziyi’s nerves were so shot that he had almost forgotten Yixing was there. When he raised his head to look at him, Yixing had settled himself even more comfortably in his chair, legs spread and palming the hard outline of his dick through his athletic leggings. It was almost the hottest thing Ziyi had ever seen, second only to Xukun on his knees before him, hair a mess and mouth red. “Do you want him to suck you off, Ziyi?”

There was no point in pretending otherwise at this point. “Yeah,” Ziyi exhaled.

“And what about you, Kunkun? Do you want to suck Ziyi off?”

Xukun had pulled back slightly, enough that his mouth was no longer on Ziyi’s dick but close enough that Ziyi felt the heat of his breath when he answered: “Yeah.”

Yixing’s hand was inside his leggings now, and Ziyi could see his wrist move up and down as he lazily jacked his cock. If Ziyi was hoping for further instruction, none was forthcoming, as all Yixing said was, “Ziyi, don’t forget you can touch him.”

“Wait,” Ziyi said, just as Xukun snaked his hands up to Ziyi’s briefs, pulling them off in one swift motion. “Ah, that is— PD, are you going to watch?”

Yixing tilted his head to the side, just as Xukun took his first, experimental lick of the head of Ziyi’s dick, startling Ziyi. He remembered Yixing’s words, and settled one hand on the nape of Xukun’s neck, hot to the touch. Yixing’s gaze, when Ziyi looked up to meet it again, was matter-of-fact and appraising, and identical to the gaze had when he watched them during practice, or soundcheck. If it weren’t for the hand down his pants and the cockhead slipping out of his fist that Ziyi could glimpse and Xukun’s hot mouth around his own dick, it was basically like any other evaluation.

“That’s right,” Yixing said, syllables long and liquid in his mouth. “So you better do well, Ziyi. I’ll be watching.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- I have been working on this fic ever since episode 10 of idol producer when wzy and cxk were in mask with zyx together and I realized all the thirst potential there. I realize that this is very late lmao.
> 
> \- does anyone even care about this specific pairing/circumstance anymore... PROBABLY NOT, and that's a good thing because this fic is pretty half-assed since I mostly wanted to just get it out there...
> 
> \- this is definitely not my best work, but I do think wzy/cxk/zyx is a fascinating dynamic, and I hope you enjoy u__u
> 
> \- I don't really write explicit fic and I'm sure it shows ;; sorry if it's awkward ;;
> 
> \- I also don't mean to imply that zyx took out all the trainees for blowjobs. in my head, quanzhe got hot pot, ruibin and chaoze got massages, and zibo got a trip to the mall. mubo maybe got a blowjob


End file.
